


and a volley of streamers

by ceteiq



Series: "and a place to rest my head" [11]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Parenthood, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceteiq/pseuds/ceteiq
Summary: A ficlet based on my fic "and a place to rest my head."Two times that Rian was sick— once at Szymon's inn, and once now that he and Jaskier are safe with Geralt.(Or: things are very different now.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: "and a place to rest my head" [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719994
Comments: 33
Kudos: 438





	and a volley of streamers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonna Mouse](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nonna+Mouse).



> this is based on a prompt/comment by Nonna Mouse, which i didn't quite adhere to: "I think a good idea to explore would be Jaskier getting sick (maybe Rian too) and how different it is from the times they were ill at Szymon's." in the end i just explored rian being sick then and now! hopefully it still scratches your itch!
> 
> many many thanks to [starlitfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlitfics/pseuds/starlitfics) for beta-reading this and giving me many good ideas!
> 
> timeframe: the italic parts are set at szymon's inn while rian is 2 years old. the non-italic parts are set "now," at their cottage, sometime after chapter 40.
> 
> warnings: lots of vomiting, jaskier worrying that rian will die (obviously he doesn't), coerced underage sexual content, and underage forced prostitution

_Rian is sick. Jaskier can tell as soon as he takes him out from under the bed in the morning: he's sweaty, flushed, and when Jaskier feels his forehead, he's burning up._

_Jaskier bites his lip. Fevers are bad. And Rian is only two years old, and so small for his age. But— well, he's survived fevers before, and so has Jaskier. He tries not to worry just yet._

_He lays Rian, still fast asleep, down on the mattress and pushes his curls off his sweaty forehead._

_Then he heads downstairs._

***

"Time for breakfast," Jaskier tells Rian, stepping into his bedroom to wake him up. It's a cool autumn morning, and the sunlight is streaming through Rian's open curtains.

Rian rolls over in his little bed and groans. "I feel sick," he says.

Jaskier frowns. "What part of you?" he asks. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and holds a hand up to Rian's forehead. Sure enough, his skin is hot to the touch. "Feels like a fever," he says. "Any other symptoms? Stuffy nose? Tummy-ache?"

"Tummy-ache," says Rian. "And I feel hurty all over."

"Okay," says Jaskier soothingly, kissing Rian's cheek. "Okay, let me go tell Daddy."

And he heads out to the main room of the cottage.

***

_Szymon is in a bad mood this morning._

_He laughs in Jaskier's face when Jaskier asks for breakfast, and instead sets Jaskier to work doing tasks around the inn— scrubbing the tables and cleaning the fireplace and washing the dishes. On one hand, Jaskier finds an uneaten chicken drumstick on one of the dirty plates, and manages to slip it into his trouser pocket. On the other hand, the chores take him at least two hours, and Jaskier frets about Rian the entire time. What if he wakes up? What if he comes downstairs?_

_But finally, at long last, Szymon deems him finished, gives him a bowl of watery soup, and sends him on his way._

_Jaskier hurries upstairs, as fast as he can go without spilling the soup._

***

Geralt is in the kitchen, cutting up ham for their breakfast.

"Geralt?" Jaskier says.

"Yes?"

"Rian's sick."

Geralt looks up sharply, a frown etched deeply on his face. "Is he alright?"

"I think so," says Jaskier. "He's got a fever and stomachache, but there've been times in the past when he's been a lot sicker. But I'd still—" He breaks off. Even after all these months, he still hesitates, sometimes, to ask things of Geralt, lest he ask too much.

"What is it?"

"I'd— I'd still feel better if he had some medicine," Jaskier says. "Maybe something for his fever, in case it gets worse? And maybe something for nausea?"

Immediately, Geralt sets down his knife. "Of course," he says. "I'll find a healer."

"It's pretty early in the morning. They might not be—"

"I'll find a healer," Geralt repeats firmly. "And I'll get what Rian needs."

***

_When he gets back to their room, Jaskier finds Rian stirring fitfully._

_"Hey, honey," he says softly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "You're not feeling too great today, huh?"_

_"Tummy," Rian mumbles._

_"You want to eat some food?" Jaskier asks. "I have soup and chicken."_

_Rian nods. "Soup," he says._

_Jaskier manages to spoon-feed him about half the bowl of thin soup before Rian vomits it all back up._

_Jaskier frowns. "Okay, maybe eating isn't such a good idea right now," he says._

_He rummages under the bed until he finds a suitable towel— dirty, but not with cum— and uses it to clean Rian's mouth and bare chest. Rian doesn't have any proper clothes, just a diaper, which usually bothers Jaskier to no end, but at least today it makes cleanup easier._

_"Tummy hurts," says Rian miserably, and he vomits again._

_Jaskier sighs, wipes it up, and strokes Rian's cheek. "I'm sorry, baby," he says. "I'm sorry you don't feel good."_

_He scents Rian's wrist. Then he places the soiled towel under Rian's body to catch the vomit, in case Rian throws up again._

_And finally he eats the chicken himself, and the soup, and tries to savor the feeling of a moderately-full stomach._

_But all he can think of is Rian._

***

Jaskier finds a bucket in the kitchen and returns to Rian's room. He sits on the side of his bed, stroking his hair, until Rian lets out an anguished little sound.

"I'm gonna throw up," he says. "Papa!"

Jaskier tucks the bucket under Rian's chin. "Here," he says. "Don't worry, honey, you can throw up."

And Rian vomits into the bucket. Then he starts to cry.

"It's okay," says Jaskier.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No," Jaskier tells him hurriedly. "No, of course not, honey."

"But Szymon—"

"Rian, Szymon is gone, remember? You're safe now."

Rian sniffles, and frowns. "Do you still have to go away though?"

"What do you mean?"

"You— you always go away when I'm sick," says Rian. "You go downstairs and then I'm all by myself."

"Oh honey," murmurs Jaskier, his heart breaking. "That was before, at Szymon's. We're not there anymore. Now I can stay right here with you."

"Oh," says Rian. "And Daddy?"

"And Daddy. Daddy's out getting you medicine, but he'll be here soon."

"Medicine?" asks Rian. "Like at nighttime? To make Bad Men go away?"

"Not exactly," Jaskier tells him. "This is a different kind of medicine. It makes you feel better when you're sick." He pauses. "You've never had medicine like this before."

Rian's brow furrows. "I'll feel better?"

"That's right," Jaskier assures him. He wipes Rian's mouth with a clean rag, tucks him back under the sheet, and kisses his ear. "You'll feel much better, and Daddy and I will take care of you, and soon you'll be good as new."

"I like that," says Rian, and he nods off to sleep.

***

_Over the next few hours, Rian only gets sicker. By noon, he's thrown up several more times— just bile now, since his stomach is long empty— and his fever seems to have gotten worse. Jaskier can't remember him ever feeling so hot before in the past. It's sort of terrifying._

_Jaskier lies in bed with him, holding him close as he shivers, kissing his sweaty hair and talking to him quietly. He encourages him to drink water and wipes down his face with a wet washcloth._

_But finally, Jaskier can't take it anymore. He gets out of bed— "I'll be right back, Rian, don't worry. You just stay right there, okay honey?"— leaves the room, and trudges down the stairs._

_He finds Szymon in the kitchen._

_"Good afternoon, sir," he says._

_"Good afternoon, slut," Szymon replies, turning around. "What do you want?"_

_Jaskier lowers his face. "Sir, I— I was wondering if you still had any of that potion you gave me a few months back when I was sick. The one that helped with my fever."_

_"Why?" asks Szymon. "You sick again?"_

_Jaskier considers lying, but he thinks Szymon would be able to tell, and he's not in the mood to get beaten. "No," he mumbles. "My son is."_

_Szymon laughs. "That medicine's expensive as shit; you think I'd waste it on your fucking kid?" he asks. "I gave it to_ you _so you could still work. Last time I checked your stupid brat doesn't work for me."_

_"What if I suck you off?"_

_Szymon smiles. "Oh, by all means, suck me off."_

_"And then you'll...?"_

_Szymon just lifts an eyebrow and pulls out his cock._

_So Jaskier sucks him off. And after Szymon has cum and Jaskier has swallowed dutifully, he lifts his eyes. Waits._

_"What?" asks Szymon._

_"Can I... can I have some of the medicine now? Please?"_

_"Hmm," says Szymon, scratching his chin like he's deep in thought. "Let's see." And then he smirks. "I'm gonna go with, 'no.'"_

_"But— sir. You said if I sucked you off—"_

_"I said no such thing."_

_Which is true, technically, but, "Just a little bit of it?" Jaskier pleads. "Please." And then, in a whisper, "What if— what if he dies?"_

_Szymon snorts. "You think I'd care?" he asks coldly. "Seems it'd simplify all our lives if the little shit kicked the bucket. Now get off your knees and make yourself useful."_

_And Jaskier fights back tears, but does as he's told._

***

Before long, Geralt returns, bearing a potion for fevers and some ground-up herbs for nausea.

"Were they expensive?" asks Jaskier.

"Don't worry," Geralt grunts. "How is he?"

"Unhappy. He threw up while you were gone. But I mean, he's okay."

"Hmm," says Geralt. "You go stay with him. I'll be there in a minute." And before Jaskier has even left, Geralt has put himself to work mixing the herbs with warm water. 

A few minutes later, he enters Rian's bedroom with a steaming mug.

"Good morning, little wolf," he murmurs. "Papa says you're not feeling well?"

"I threw up and I'm hot."

"Hmm. Well, I have something for you. It should help settle your stomach."

"What is it?"

"It's some special plants, mixed with water. Just the right amount to make little wolves feel better."

"It'll help you not throw up as much," Jaskier adds.

"Oh," Rian mumbles. "I want it."

Geralt hands Jaskier the mug, and Jaskier holds it up to Rian's mouth. Rian drains it slowly. "Done," he says at last. "It tasted bad."

"Mm, but you still drank it all up," says Jaskier appreciatively. "Because you're such a brave boy."

"Yes," Rian agrees. "Very brave."

"And now," says Geralt, "why don't we move you to the big bed?"

Rian nods. "Big bed."

So Geralt picks him up, and the three of them head into the main room. Gently, Geralt sets Rian down in his and Jaskier's bed and pulls a blanket up over his body.

"Too hot," pouts Rian immediately.

So Geralt removes the blanket, and Rian curls up on the mattress. Pretty soon, his breathing grows even.

"Should we give him the potion?" asks Jaskier, once Rian's asleep. "For his fever?" he adds, worrying his fingers together at his sides.

"Hmm. No," Geralt says. "Vesemir always told us that fevers help the body fight off illness. They're part of the cure. As long as he stays lucid, we don't need to worry."

Jaskier nods, but he can't help but remember the time when Rian got sick at Szymon's inn with a fever so high that he _wasn't_ lucid. He remembers holding his small, shaking body to his chest and crying, remembers how sure he'd been that he would die.

He feels tears fill his eyes at the memory.

"Jas," Geralt says. Can he smell tears?

"I'm fine," Jaskier says quickly.

"He'll be alright," says Geralt.

"I know," Jaskier says, nodding. "I know he will." And he does. "I'm just— I'm glad you're here, this time." He doesn't mention the _other_ times, the times at Szymon's inn, but Geralt takes his hand, and seems to understand.

"Me too."

***

_Jaskier sneaks upstairs once while he's supposed to be scrubbing tables, and finds Rian borderline unresponsive. He just lies there, tossing and turning, mumbling nonsense sounds which convey nothing but abject misery. The towel beneath his little body is covered in bile._

_Jaskier wonders if this is what it's like when someone is dying of a fever. He runs his finger over Rian's flushed cheek, settles his hand on his bony little chest._

_"Hang on, Rian," he says. "I— I have to go back downstairs before Szymon realizes I'm gone, but— fuck. Rian, you can't die, okay? I know you feel terrible right now. But please just— please be okay."_

_Rian groans, and murmurs a few incomprehensible words._ Don't worry, Papa _, Jaskier imagines him saying._ I'll be fine. I'm brave and strong.

_Jaskier kisses his nose. "You are," he says. "I know you are." And he does._

***

Rian insists that Geralt and Jaskier lie in bed with him, one on each side, with Jaskier lying especially close.

"I wanna cuddle the baby too," Rian explains. So Jaskier scoots closer.

Rian rests his face against Jaskier's stomach and lets out a little sigh. "Baby," he says, kissing Jaskier's belly button. "Talk about Baby," he murmurs then.

"Let's see," says Jaskier. "Well, they'll be here in three months. And we don't know what they'll look like, but they'll be so cute. And maybe they'll be bald, or maybe they'll have soft little hair, like you did when you were born. And it could be brown, like yours, or gold, or black, or any color, to be honest. And they'll have a round little face. And their hands and feet will be so, so small you won't be able to believe it..."

"I love Baby," Rian says happily.

"We all do," says Jaskier. "We love them so much."

And Rian nods, and falls asleep, his cheek against the swell of Jaskier's abdomen.

He sleeps on and off the entire afternoon.

***

_Jaskier returns downstairs and scrubs tables for a few more hours, until Szymon sends him upstairs to give Rian his sleeping potion. Grudgingly, he also gives Jaskier another towel._

_"Hey, honey," Jaskier whispers, opening the door to their bedroom._

_"Papa."_

_"That's right," says Jaskier, pouring Rian's dose of potion into the cap of the bottle. "Can you sit up? It's time to take your medicine."_

_Rian doesn't move._

_So Jaskier puts an arm behind his bare back and pulls him into a slightly more upright position. Then he presses the capful of potion to Rian's lips, and Rian drinks it._

_"Good boy," whispers Jaskier. "What a good boy."_

_He hugs Rian until he's asleep. Then he kisses him, wraps his body in the new towel, and pushes him under the bed, belly-down. He turns Rian's head to the side so he won't choke on his vomit in the night._

_"Sweet dreams, honey," he says, adjusting the towel beneath him. "Feel better. Please. Please feel better."_

***

When night arrives, Jaskier gets out his lute and sings Rian several original lullabies, plus an improvised little ditty about a boy with a fever who makes friends with a beaver— not Jaskier's greatest lyrical accomplishment, but Rian seems to enjoy it.

And soon enough, he's fast asleep.

***

 _The alpha who rents Jaskier that night isn't great, but he isn't_ too _horrid. He barely speaks, just shoves Jaskier down into the mattress and fucks him, hard, occasionally choking him for good measure. When he's finished, he flops down on the bed and falls asleep._

_Jaskier rolls over and lies there beside him, very quietly, desperate not to wake him up. He doesn't sleep— his ass hurts too much, for one thing, and besides, he's worried about Rian._

_He hopes he's alright. Occasionally he hears him vomiting in his sleep under the bed, which isn't very reassuring. But at least he's sleeping, and not consciously miserable._

_Hours pass. A little before dawn, the alpha wakes up and fucks Jaskier one more time. Then he gets dressed and leaves without another word._

_As soon as he's gone, Jaskier takes Rian out from under the bed. He changes his diaper and wipes the puke off his body as best as he can. He strokes his hair, touches his forehead. He's still burning with fever._

_Jaskier holds him till he wakes up and mumbles_ Papa _. Then he holds him some more._

***

Rian wakes up often throughout the night, complaining of his fever.

"I'm hot," he whines, and then later, "I'm cold."

"Fevers are hard," Geralt tells him sympathetically, his tone even gentler than the voice he usually uses with Rian. "I remember when I was becoming a witcher, after the first Trial, I had a fever for days."

"Were you sad?"

"Yes. But you know what my, uh— my daddy, Vesemir, said?"

"What?"

"He said that fevers help our bodies get better, even though they make us feel terrible."

"Oh," says Rian. He's silent for a while after that, as though thinking it over. Then he says, "Hold me?"

"You want me to hold you?" asks Geralt.

By the dim light of the hearth, Jaskier can see Rian nod.

Geralt lifts him onto his lap, and holds him close.

When morning comes, Jaskier wakes up to find Geralt still holding Rian, who's snuggled against his chest.

He smiles at the sight.

***

_The day drags on without improvement. If anything, every time Jaskier checks on Rian, he seems to be worse. By late afternoon, he's too weak even to mumble gibberish._

_And Jaskier cries._

_He cries as he holds Rian's small, feverish body in his arms. He cries as he begs Szymon to let him stay upstairs this evening, to skip his chores just this once. He cries when Szymon says no. He cries as he attempts to clean the tables._

_Szymon beats him for the tears, and when Jaskier has three panic attacks in a row, he beats him for that too._

_Then he sends him upstairs to put Rian to sleep._

***

The rest of the day is rough. Rian is obviously miserable. He tosses and turns restlessly, whimpering. "I don't _feel_ good," he cries. "Papa."

"I know, honey," says Jaskier. He and Geralt are still lying in bed on either side of him. Jaskier scents Rian's neck, and strokes his cheek until he falls into a fitful sleep.

"It's difficult," Geralt says stiffly, after a while, "to see him ill."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I've never... felt like this before. I'm his father. I just want to make him better."

"I know," sighs Jaskier, his fingers buried in Rian's sweaty hair.

"I can't imagine going through it alone," Geralt adds, glancing over at Jaskier.

Jaskier presses his lips together. "It was— it was awful," he whispers. "No medicine. No clean blankets or towels or clothes. I couldn't even _be_ with him half the day. And at night I had to just fucking stuff him under the bed and hope for the best."

"It must have been terrifying. For both of you."

Jaskier nods. "There was this one time when— Geralt, I was sure he was going to die. He was _so_ sick. His fever was so bad. I was so scared." He sniffs, and wipes at the tears in his eyes.

"Jas, I'm— Hmm." Geralt takes Jaskier's hand in his own and scents his wrist. "We'll never let him get that sick again," he says then. "And you'll never be alone again. I promise."

And Jaskier glances down at Rian, safe in bed between the two of them, and knows that it's true. 

***

_Jaskier takes his time walking up the staircase. When he finally reaches the bedroom, he fully expects Rian to be dead._

_He stands outside the door for a few moments, trembling, choking on his sobs. Then he pushes it open, and—_

_And Rian is kneeling on the mattress, stark naked, making shadow puppets on the wall._

"Rian _," gasps Jaskier. "Oh, honey. Oh, sweetheart, come here."_

_He runs to the bed, scoops Rian into his arms, and squeezes him tight. He doesn't feel too hot anymore. His fever must have broken. "Oh gods, you're okay," he whispers. "You're okay."_

_"I pooed," Rian says against Jaskier's shoulder._

_Jaskier laughs. "Well," he says, blinking away tears, "let's get you a clean diaper then, shall we?"_

_Rian nods. "I didn't feel good," he says, as Jaskier lays him down on the bed._

_"I know," Jaskier tells him. "You were very sick. I was so worried."_

_"I throwed up."_

_"You certainly did, many times." Jaskier wraps him in a new diaper cloth— it's the last clean one; he'll need to do laundry tomorrow morning before Szymon wakes up— and tousles his hair._

_"Yucky throw-up," says Rian, sticking out his little tongue._

_"Yes, that was no fun, huh? Does your tummy feel better now?"_

_Rian nods again. "But I'm hungry."_

_"You'll get breakfast in the morning, alright?"_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise," says Jaskier, praying it won't be a promise he has to break._

_Rian sits up. "Okay. Let's play," he says._

_Jaskier's heart constricts. "Not right now, honey. Now it's time for your medicine," he says, getting up to fetch the bottle. "We can play tomorrow."_

_Rian frowns. "I don't want it."_

_"I know, but— Rian, it keeps you safe, remember?"_

_Rian's frown deepens, but when Jaskier hands him the cap filled with potion, he drinks it up._

_"All gone!" he says._

_Jaskier kisses his head and pulls him into his lap, then buries his face in Rian's sticky little neck and inhales deeply. He smells like sweat and vomit, but it doesn't matter. He's alive, is what matters. All that matters._

_"I love you so much," Jaskier tells him._

_"I love you too, Papa," says Rian._

_And safe in Jaskier's arms, he drifts off to sleep._

***

Late that afternoon, Jaskier wakes up to the sound of Rian's voice announcing proudly: "Papa! Daddy! I feel better!"

He's drenched in sweat, but sitting upright and blinking around, his eyes alight.

Jaskier feels his forehead. "Your fever's gone," he yawns. "How's your tummy?"

"Hungry!" says Rian.

"Let's get you something to eat," says Jaskier, standing up.

He heads to the kitchen and fetches a bowl of thick chicken soup and a couple slices of fresh bread. When he gets back to the bed, Rian has crawled onto Geralt's lap and is playing with his long white hair. Geralt is smiling.

Jaskier nestles into bed beside them and hands Rian the plate of food. Rian eats it cheerfully. "I'm full now!" he proclaims at last.

"Good," says Jaskier.

"Now can we play?" Rian asks then.

"I don't see why not," Jaskier tells him.

So the three of them get out of bed, and head into Rian's bedroom, and sit on the floor playing dolls until evening.

And the past feels very far away.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! please leave a comment if you enjoyed; it would make me so happy!
> 
> also, subscribe to this [**series**](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719994) so you don't miss more ficlets when i post them!


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